Marianne Keeshig — Point of View
The radio tower at the Fort Kitchener detachment hummed in the cold, a low metallic vibration Marianne felt through her boots as she stepped outside to clear her head. The night was sharp. Stars like needles. The cold that made sound travel farther than it should.
She pulled her parka tighter and looked toward the dark line of spruce trees marking the southern horizon. Somewhere beyond that line — beyond the river, beyond the invisible border — something was happening. She could feel it. No intuition. Not superstition. Experience. The kind that came from years of watching traffickers use jurisdiction like camouflage.
###
The First Call
Her radio crackled. “Keeshig, do you copy?”
Marianne lifted it to her shoulder. “Go ahead.”
“CBSA just flagged a query from a private carrier,” the dispatcher said. “Unscheduled. No manifest. Requesting northbound clearance at the Milk River crossing.”
Marianne frowned. “At this hour.”
“Exactly.”
She felt the cold settle deeper into her chest. “Who’s the carrier?”
“Company name is… Solstice Logistics.”
Marianne’s breath stopped. Solstice. She didn’t move for a moment. Didn’t speak. Then: “Put them on hold. Tell them we’re running a secondary check.”
“Already did.”
“Good.”
She turned toward the detachment door. “Patch me through to the CBSA officer on duty.”
###
Inside the Detachment
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Marianne strode back inside, boots leaving a trail of snow melting across the floor. She grabbed a map from the wall — the border region, the river crossings, the old forestry roads that still cut through the bush. She circled the Milk River crossing. Too close to the ridge. Too close to BR‑12. Everything is too close.
The phone rang. She snatched it up. “Keeshig.”
A tired voice answered. “This is Officer Patel at Milk River. You asked for a call?”
“Yes,” Marianne said. “Tell me about the Solstice vehicle.”
“White cargo van. No rear windows. Two occupants. Both males. Both… tense.”
“Tense how?”
“Eyes everywhere. Hands tight. Like they’re waiting for something.”
Marianne closed her eyes. “Any signs of cargo?”
“Can’t see inside,” Patel said. “They refused to open the back door. Said it was temperature‑controlled medical equipment.”
Marianne’s stomach twisted. Medical equipment. The same lie they used on the U.S. side.
###
The Second Call
Her radio crackled again. “Keeshig, we’ve got another hit.”
Marianne turned sharply. “From where?”
“Old forestry road near the river. Motion sensor picked up a vehicle heading north.”
“What kind of vehicle?”
“Large, box‑style. No plates.”
Marianne felt the bottom drop out of her chest. Two vehicles. Two directions. Both are northbound.
She whispered: “They’re splitting the load.”
###
The Realization
She moved to the window, staring out into the darkness. If Solstice were moving the children north, they wouldn’t use the main crossing unless they were desperate. Which meant that the van at Milk River was a decoy. The real transport was on the forestry road. She grabbed her coat.
“Dispatch, get me a patrol unit to the old forestry road. Now.”
“On it.”
“And tell CBSA to stall the Solstice van as long as possible. No clearance without my authorization.”
“Copy.”
Marianne stepped outside again, breath fogging in the cold. The spruce trees loomed like black sentinels. A vehicle was moving through the dark somewhere out there, carrying cargo that could not reach Canadian soil. She whispered into the night: “Not this time.”
###
The Quiet Echo
As she climbed into her truck, her phone buzzed — a message from the liaison officer she’d been coordinating with on the U.S. side. Movement at BR‑12. An unknown number of children. Possible northbound route.
Marianne stared at the screen. Her pulse hammered. She started the engine. The headlights cut through the darkness. She drove toward the old forestry road — toward the place where the border was nothing but a line on a map and the night hid everything that mattered.